Fighter's Heart

Scene 15

Jase

My balls have never been so fucking blue in my life. My cock is hard for the entire drive home, and I have to unzip my jeans to give it a little breathing space. It's only when I'm finally alone in my bedroom that I take it in my hand and stroke. I imagine Lena's fingers wrapped around me, pumping up and down, ticking the bottom of the shaft. Pre-cum oozes from the tip and I smooth it over the head, picturing Lena dropping to her knees and taking me in her mouth. It's a tight fit, because I'm big, and despite her fiery attitude, she's a delicate woman.

"Fuck." My balls draw up tight as she swallows around me, and my hips jerk, fucking her face. I squeeze my eyes shut, back against the wall, jaw clenched. "Fuck. Lena. Baby."

I come hard, shuddering with the force of it, spilling all over my goddamn legs. I milk every last drop and flop back, breathing heavily. Minutes later, when my legs are no longer jelly, I clean myself up in the shower. But as I'm soaping, the image of taking Lena against the wall fills my mind, and though I'm raw and sensitive as fuck, I jerk off again, wishing it was her little pussy wrapped around me rather than my own coarse hand.

I remind myself of the rules. No sex before a big fight. But shit, I'd like to make an exception for her. If that dickhead hadn't wolf-whistled at us tonight, I might have dragged her into the nearest alley. And while I'd have had no problem screwing her anywhere I could, I have a feeling she wouldn't appreciate alley sex. She's classier than that. Even if she's broke.

And shit, I wasn't expecting that either.

We both misjudged each other, and though we mayhave started out on the wrong foot, I'm going to fix it.

* * *

For the first time I can remember, I'm impatient to leave the gym. I'll be seeing Lena tonight at the community center, and it's all I can think of. I'm excited the same way I was about losing my virginity, with a kind of schoolboy eagerness that's fucking embarrassing.

Fortunately, none of the guys seem to have noticed. Today is the last hard sparring session before the fight, giving me a week and a half to recover and be in top shape. In accordance with tradition, I have to face off against my brothers for one long, torturous round. Every minute, they swap out, so I'm constantly facing someone fresh while growing wearier, but I keep my hands up, stay light on my feet, and drag them to the ground at the first chance I get.

The ground is my turf. Where I'm most comfortable. And they all know it. None of them are stupid enough to give me the opportunity to take them down easily, except Devon, who's completely nuts and has a death wish. It doesn't seem to matter whether he's winning, losing, or getting his face smashed—whatever the case, he grins like a freaking maniac.

That's why he's the brother I'm most wary of. Gabe is technically proficient and cold as hell, but he's always in control of himself, whereas Devon is a loose cannon. Half the time, none of us have any clue what he's about to do, which makes his fights the most fun to watch. He's whacked in the head, in the best possible way.

Finally, Seth calls an end to the torment and my leaden legs carry me from the cage. I lower myself to the floor and catch my breath, then go through my stretching routine. As I remove my gloves, I sit through a classic Seth-style pep talk—which basically involves a grunt and a pat on the back—then I limp to the shower.

"Bro, how come you're so fired up to get out of here?" Devon asks from the adjacent stall. "Got a hot date?"

"Got class at the center tonight," I reply, running a wet cloth over my face, neck and shoulders. "Don't want to be late for the kids."

"You sure it's got nothing to do with a certain redhead?"

"Not a thing."

"Seriously, man?" He makes a sound of disappointment. "Thought you had more game than that."

"It's nearly fight week."

He sighs. "You and your stupid rule."

Tell me about it.

I finish showering, towel dry, slip on a clean set of MMA shorts and a T-shirt, grab my gloves, and head for the center. Several of the kids are already there when I arrive, and I high-five each of them in turn. There are no outcasts in my class. The kids are a rag-tag collection, aged from four to seventeen, and belong to both genders. They're white, black, Hispanic, Asian, and everything in between. They listen to me pretty well, as I knew they would, because not many people give these kids opportunities.

After ordering them to skip for five minutes and delegating responsibility to one of the older girls to lead them through a warm-up routine, I sort them into partners and remind them how to throw a jab and a cross, then get them practicing on pads. Their equipment is the best. I bought it when I first started taking lessons here and realized there was no way they could afford their own, and nor could the center. They treat the gear like it's precious, which is sweet, but also really fucking sad because few of these kids own anything of value themselves. That's part of why I started contributing to the grant. To help kids with promise but no cash make something of themselves.

I'm correcting little Carlos's form when I feel eyes on my back and know she's here. Lena. Even though I haven't seen her, the weight of her gaze is like a caress. I can sense it on my body, and I want to go to her and shove her against the wall and pick up where we left off yesterday.

Cool it, man.

I'm here for these kids, and she's here for a job. Hauling in a deep breath, I try to tune her out, knowing we'll talk later.